Everything's An Illusion
by Annabelle Rae
Summary: Natsume's story, told by the one person who knew him the most.


**A/N: **There are parts wherein it may seem BL. But it's not. Really.

**Dedication: **AoGA. You guys are the best.

**Disclaimer: **How I wish. :c

* * *

Nobody took Mikan's death well. In a way or another, she had touched all our lives; she was my first love, Hotaru's best friend, Sumire's first real friend, and Yuu's first crush. There was also the fact that she was the only woman Natsume had ever loved, his girlfriend.

Natsume took it worse than Hotaru. He took it worse than all of us. Natsume was a strong man, though, so we thought that he would be able to cope, given time.

And he did, somehow. He coped with drugs.

I tried to stop him. Everyone did. But deep down I knew it was a lost cause; he probably thought nothing was worth living for anymore.

It must have been my fault. Had I done something to stop him, maybe his case wouldn't have been that bad.

But that's the thing. I didn't do anything.

And then he started having hallucinations.

He became considerably happier and I thought that was nice. But that was during the time I didn't know he saw illusions of Mikan.

There was a day, however, that he was in a hurry while we were eating together at a restaurant. Upon standing up, what he said was, "Sorry Ruka. Mikan's waiting at home."

I was alarmed. Of course I was. At first I thought who—or rather what—he saw was a ghost. It happened to be an illusion.

I was fine with it, though. As long as Natsume was happy, it was okay.

Until that day when he came to me crying.

"Ruka," Natsume said.

His voice was laced with fear, but that wasn't the only factor that changed it. His voice used to be clear and authoritative, but now it was raspy, wheezing; traces of youth had vanished and what was left seemed to be a fragile man. Even his eyes had lost their usual sparkle, and his gait was that of someone incredibly old—his shoulders were slouched and it was as though he carried too many a burden.

He looked tired. He _was _tired. Etched on his face was a look of resignation.

"Why? What's wrong?" I replied.

"S-she asked me if I could… if I would be willing to d-die with her. If she told me to jump, would I jump? I don't—" He started crying. And it hurt so badly because I knew him for so long and never had he cried so openly with reckless abandon, like a child who had been lost, left alone in the dark, unable to find the light. I knew he was a kind man and he didn't deserve something like this.

Hesitantly I wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Don't do it, Natsume. Don't ever choose to die."

"I won't," came his assurance. Natsume kept his promises so I believed him. I really did.

Weeks passed by and he became a recluse. I was worried that he might have killed himself but somehow the assurance he gave was enough. I trusted him that much.

Still, I grew restless.

I went to his house one day only to see him at the corner of the room, his knees drawn to his chest, his hands pulling on his hair in extreme frustration, his shoulders shaking as he cried silently. Shards of glass—presumably from throwing a bottle of beer on the wall—were scattered on the floor, as well as packs and ashes of cigarettes.

Cautiously I went to where he was and whispered, quite unsure of what to say, "Natsume?"

He looked up to me and reflected on his eyes was pain.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"She was here. She… she k-keeps on telling me to j-jump. To go with her. But I don't want to. I promised you I won't."

For once in my life I was angry at Mikan. I knew "she" was only a figment of Natsume's imagination brought about by the drugs, but then he was so confused and broken, and I had no choice but to blame her. Maybe if she wasn't that good, Natsume wouldn't have loved her that much and he wouldn't have become like this because of her death.

But the damage had been done and there was nothing to do but to solve the problem.

"Natsume," I said. "She's not here. Come with me. We'll fix this."

He looked hesitant at first, but he got up and walked slowly to where I was. Together we walked out of his house and for the first time after many weeks, he saw the sun.

* * *

Natsume went to live in my place. I had to be the one to get his clothes from his house because he was scared he would see "Mikan". I did nothing to tell him that "she" was a product of his imagination, a mere hallucination. I did bring him to a psychiatrist, though.

It was quite hard to have him quit taking drugs. I had to do everything for him to stop. Natsume was smart; he cooperated and did his best. He knew I only wanted to help. He did all he could to contain his body's cravings for drugs. He even asked me to lock him in his room.

Months passed. He lived quite well. Our friends would visit him and he would talk to them like he usually did—before Mikan passed away, that is.

However, at night, I would always hear him scream and shout and cry. Mikan still haunted him, but this time, in his dreams.

I would often take him out to see the sun. He became more like the man I once knew. He still attended sessions with the psychiatrist.

Once, I asked him if he would like to go with me to his house. He said no. I asked him to come with me to the cemetery. He said no.

Slowly he was able to grasp the truth that Mikan had been long dead and that the one he saw was only a side effect of drugs. He didn't take it well at first, but with the help of the psychiatrist, he was able to accept it and live with it.

The nightmares became less frequent. He smiled more often. His psychiatrist gave positive remarks.

Everything was going well. The only problem was that he still didn't want to go back to his own house. He accepted her death already—embraced it, even—but for some reason, he didn't want to go back.

So I asked him, "Why don't you want to go back?"

"Why? Is my stay here long overdue?" he said.

"No, of course not."

He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, looked so vulnerable and defeated and said, "I'm scared. What if she wasn't a side effect of the drugs but a ghost who came to haunt me because I am the reason she still hasn't advanced to the afterlife? Mikan is not the type to bear grudges, but if that really were the case I would only blame myself."

"Just try it. At least see your house."

"I will. Just not now. Give me more time."

I didn't push it. I didn't want to fight.

* * *

Soon seasons changed and Natsume celebrated occasions them with me, with us. These celebrations were the same as what we usually had every year—the only difference was that for New Year's, we lighted candles and prayed for Mikan's soul.

He seemed genuinely happy. The nightmares were still there; I could tell. But they came rarely and they weren't as bad as before. I hoped they'd go away completely, but I had no idea how.

* * *

One day Natsume approached me and asked me something I'd been waiting for for so long.

"Ruka, I want to go to my house. I think I am ready. I need this."

I smiled and said, "Okay."

We drove towards his house. We hadn't seen it for a while, and although the exterior was fine, the inside was a mess: it was really dark, but sunlight was streaming through the torn parts of the curtain; there were cobwebs everywhere, and insects here and there; the shards of the beer bottle from that day when I went to check on him were still there. I looked at Natsume; he was frowning, and disappointment was apparent on his features.

"Was I really this fucked up?" he said after piecing his thoughts and composing himself.

"I didn't know you were that… sad. I did nothing to help. I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault. Let's just clean this mess up."

After hours of sweeping and dusting and all those stuff, the house became presentable at the very least. It needed more work, but it was livable.

I was happy for him. He decided that he would go back and live there tomorrow onwards, and somehow it made me proud of him.

We were about to go home when he surprised me with yet another request.

"I want to visit her grave."

When we arrived at the cemetery, he knelt in front of the tombstone and prayed. Afterwards he looked up the sky, smiled, and said, "I'm really sorry. I miss you, Mikan."

The ride back home was silent, but I didn't mind it at all.


End file.
